


butterflies & no biscotti

by squash1



Series: skam prompts [1]
Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, niccolò meeting his future mother-in-law :')
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 22:38:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17068487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squash1/pseuds/squash1
Summary: “What’s wrong?”“Nothing.”Martino raises his brow and shoots him a doubtful glance.“Just…,” Nico starts, buying time by reaching out for the bag, gently pulling him closer by tugging at the shoulder strap. Martino complies, easily stepping into his boyfriend’s space. “What if she doesn’t like me?”





	butterflies & no biscotti

**Author's Note:**

> uhh this is my first ever skam/nicotino fic. i hope i did them justice!
> 
> find me on tumblr @ witchparrish :)

The knit in Niccolòs brow has deepened significantly over the past thirty minutes, Martino notes. He has been watching his boyfriend’s scrunched up face ever since they left school, but now, standing on top of the stairwell as he fishes for the apartment key in the bottom of his backpack, there is no doubt in his mind that something is bothering Nico.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, hand still roaming around his bag. The tumbling noise of pens, notebooks, and other knick-knacks echoes off the high ceilings of the hallway, almost overpowering Niccolò’s quiet “ _Nothing_.”

Martino raises his brow and shoots him a doubtful glance.

“Just…,” Nico starts, buying time by reaching out for the bag, gently pulling him closer by tugging at the shoulder strap. Martino complies, easily stepping into his boyfriend’s space. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

There’s really no helping the laugh that escapes him. He feels a bit guilty, and compensates by softly nudging Niccolò’s nose with his own. Niccolò’s frown deepens.

“Nico, I’ve realized lately that my mum and I are more alike than I anticipated. If she’s not immediately head over heels crazy about you, I’d honestly be surprised.”

Their faces are incredibly close, and Martino can feel the puff of air from Niccolò’s lungs as he scoffs in amused exasperation. “Crazy, huh?”

“Okay, terrible choice of words, I’m sorry,” Martino stammers, pulling back slightly but meeting resistance when he finds that Niccolò is still holding on to his backpack. A blush creeps steadily up the back of his neck as he feels him leaning closer and closer. Martino searches for some kind of tell-tale sign of disappointment or anger on Niccolò’s face, but all he finds is a fond smile stretching across. Nico then pulls him into a kiss. It’s a soft, gentle one, and something tells Martino that this embrace is equal parts comforting for both of them.

Just then, he feels something cold and metallic on his fingertips.

“Got the key!” Martino says triumphantly after pulling back from the kiss.

Niccolò nods so solemnly that Martino can’t resist planting another smooch onto his lips before pushing the key into the lock.

*

“Mamma?” Martino calls out as soon as they have closed the door behind them.

“In the living room!” his mother calls back. The soft murmur of a radio commercial fills the apartment, along with the shuffling of shoes and jackets and scarves being taken off and flung onto the coat rack. Martino turns to take a moment to search Niccolò’s face once again. Uncertainty is still plastered all over it, but when he winks, Nico’s expression lightens up. He extends a hand towards his boyfriend, an offer that is accepted instantly by Niccolò, and leads him into the living area.

His mother is sat on the sofa, seemingly busy bobbing a teabag in and out of a steaming mug. When she looks up, her eyes immediately dart towards their guest.

“You must be Niccolò,” she says, smiling ear to ear as she sets down the cup on the table in front of her and stands up to greet him.

Martino is slightly taken aback by his mother’s enthusiasm as she crosses the distance between herself and Niccolò and holds out her hand to him in a welcoming gesture.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she says, and Martino watches a look of uncertainty flash across Niccolò’s features before his face softens into a smile and he accepts and shakes her hand.

“Likewise.”

Martino can’t help but smile. He can still feel a slight nervousness buzzing off of Niccolò, especially since he is standing so close, shoulder pressed against shoulder. Martino reaches for his hand, intertwining their fingers in hopes that the touch will feel as grounding and calming as intended.

His mother seems to have noticed the small gesture as she smiles down at their clasped hands.

“Would you boys like some tea or coffee?” she asks, already scattering off to the kitchen.

“Coffee,” Martino answers, “Thanks, mamma.”

“Yes, thank you, Signora,” Niccolò says as Martino drags him over to sit on the sofa.

Not long after, his mother sticks her head out of the kitchen and _tuts_. “Am I really that old to you boys?” she jabs, “Please, call me Regina.”

“All right.”

“Only Niccolò though, I’m still _mamma_ to you, young man.”

She disappears back into the kitchen, and about five minutes of Martino clandestinely kissing Niccolò’s cheek and rubbing a soothing thumb over the back of his hand, she reappears with a tray of two coffee cups.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have any biscotti left,” she says, pointedly looking at Martino now, “ _Somebody_ must have gotten to them whilst studying last night.”

“I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth,” Niccolò says, accepting the cup Martino’s mother hands him. “Thanks.”

Martino feels his face heating up slightly. Embarrassed, he decides to occupy himself with spooning sugar into his caffè espresso.

“Case in point,” his mother quips, and Niccolò laughs wholeheartedly.

“When Martino was little, he would sneak the biscotti from the shopping bag and hide them inside his pillowcase.”

“Mamma! _Stop_.”

“No, please go on,” Niccolò chimes in, “I’m learning so much about you.”

Martino grimaces and downs his coffee in one big gulp. “This was a horrible idea,” he mutters, standing up from the sofa. He is pretty sure that by now his cheeks could put Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer to shame.

“No, Marti,” Niccolò playfully whines, “I’m sorry, it’s just so adorable.”

With a sigh, Martino does sit back down. His mother has pulled up a chair from the dining table and is now sitting across from him and Niccolò.

“Oh, if you want to see adorable, I’ll show you adorable!” she says, suddenly with a glimmer in her eyes. She stands up and makes her way over to the book shelf.

Martino is hit with the sudden realization of where this is going.

“No, mamma! No baby photos!” he protests, but she has already pulled an album larger and heavier than a small greyhound off the self.

He has to hide his face in his hands whilst his mother tells Niccolò all about _that one time at the beach when Martino made a sand cake and decided to taste test it_ , with photographic evidence to prove it. Hearing Niccolò’s laughs and giggles is almost worth the embarrassment, though. Almost.


End file.
